The Rook Thief and the Inkworld
by The Rook Thief
Summary: Several years after the end of Inkdeath, Meggie's brother is ready to venture to the world his parents are from, but he needs The Rook Thief's help. Do Mo, Dustfinger, and Farid have what it takes to accompany Ben on this final adventure?
1. Prologue: Farid's Return

The Rook Thief and the Inkworld

Prologue

Farid crept silently through the brush, his dark eyes taking in his surroundings with slight interest. He was nearly there, he was sure of it. Though he hadn't been in this area for a very long time, it was familiar to him. Just a few more steps...

Farid stepped up to the large bush that blocked him from the place he was searching for and pushed a few leafy twigs out of the way of his eyes with long, brown fingers, gazing through the space he had made.

Yes, there it was. The moonlight cast a silver sheen on the little farm, and Farid could see candle flames flickering inside a few of the windows. He did not know why he had come here first. Wasn't it the other farm he had come for? The other family, or rather that one man? What had drawn him here, to _this_ farm first?

Perhaps it was pure curiosity.

Farid stiffened as the house's front door swung open and a teenage boy came out. He immediately wondered if that was her latest love interest, but then remembered that she would have aged, like him, and that made the teenage boy far too young for her. His hostility toward the boy instantly relaxed. Curiosity replaced it. Who was the kid?

Another someone rushed out of the house, and Farid's heartbeat quickened very slightly when he saw that this someone had long fair hair that shone in the night. Was it-?

"Ben, wait!" Called the young woman, and her voice was so familiar, Farid couldn't help but smile a little. Then another thought struck him and his face froze. That boy, was he her...no...no, he hadn't been away that long had he?

Yes, he had. With that realization came an awful feeling in his stomach, he felt almost sick.

"Ben, hold on, Mum wants to talk to you for a second!" The young woman called as the teenage boy turned around. Another woman appeared in the doorway, also blonde, but thin as a twig, and quite a bit older. Farid recognized her as well.

The older woman beckoned to the boy, and he reluctantly trudged back. She bent and murmured in his ear, while the younger girl stood still, staring up at the rise where Farid stood hidden, looking almost directly at him. He couldn't remember the older woman's name, but he could remember hers.

Meggie.

Farid had realized by this point that the teenage boy wasn't Meggie's child, but rather her brother. This was very relieving, as much as Farid didn't want to admit it. He had feared that as soon as he'd been gone, she'd gotten involved with that other boy with the stiff fingers and had his child, but it looked like he was mistaken. He was glad.

When the teenage boy was on his way again, and Meggie and her mother had gone back inside, Farid crept down the rise and up to one of the windows. He stealthily peeked inside, and his mouth instantly curved into a scowl. The boy with the stiff fingers sat in a chair by the fireplace, except now he was a man, like Farid. What had _his_ name been? It started with a D.

"Doria, would you like more tea?" Asked Meggie's mother as she passed by.

Doria. Yes, that had been the name. He was the boy who had stolen Meggie from Farid. Farid glared at him, feeling the fire tingle inside his fingers, craving freedom.

There she was. Meggie. She had sat down on the arm of Doria's chair. She was more beautiful than Farid remembered. She had grown taller, lost some weight. Her hair was like a river of pale gold cascading down her shoulders.

Farid turned away. He stared at the ground, a strange emotion churning inside him. He did not want to linger here any longer. They had all forgotten him, hadn't they? Perhaps he should just forget them too.

Farid walked away from the house on his bare feet, whistling to Jink softly. He disappeared into the night, heading in the direction of Roxane's farm. He knew he would come back however. He knew he would return here after he had visited Dustfinger. As his horned marten clawed his way up Farid's trouser leg, Farid glanced back at the house, and saw Meggie's lovely face at the window, looking out with a puzzled expression.

Yes...he would come back, and talk to Meggie. Perhaps she really did miss him after all.

Perhaps.


	2. Chapter 1: Voices in the Wind

The Rook Thief and the Inkworld

Chapter the First:

Voices on the Wind

High on a frigid mountain coated in powdery, pure white snow, Mount Glycema to be exact, there was a figure standing proudly on a precipice, showing no fear as he was buffeted by the freezing gale that howled through the mountain range at this height. He was just a man, slightly taller than the average person, with lightly tanned skin and roughly cut plain brown hair. His clothes were simple and practical, and he wore a small pouch at his hip. His expression was calm, his mildly handsome features relaxed, but his eyes, which were a delightful shade of brown reminiscent of milk chocolate, were somber and weary, betraying a deep intelligence and a strain hardly visible anywhere else on the young man.

Behind this brave young man was the side of Mount Glycema, where the entrance to a cavern gaped. From the mouth of the cave emerged another man, older, grizzled, and rather more frightening to look at.

"Bren?" rasped the older man over the wind that tugged at his stringy grayed hair.

The man on the precipice did not turn nor respond.

"Rook Thief?" said the old man uncertainly, stepping closer to the other man without getting too close to the edge of the precipice.

"Do you hear it, Moralo?" The younger man asked, his soft, low voice barely audible over the wind.

The older man listened but could hear only the raging winds.

"What? What is it you hear?" Moralo asked.

The young man, Bren, didn't respond right away, but when he did, he sounded almost reverent.

"The voices. I can barely hear them, but I know they're there. They're singing."

At his softly-spoken words, Moralo found he could hear them too, lilting voices nearly lost in the strong wind. He felt a slight fear inside himself, wondering if the owners of the voices were mountain nymphs, infamous for luring men off cliffs to their deaths or enchanting them to do their bidding.

"Bren, the Mountain King is ready to see you, his guards say he doesn't like to be kept waiting." Moralo informed his companion.

"Very well, but I should like to investigate those voices afterward. It feels like they're calling to me." The young man replied, finally turning and stepping through the snow with his long legs to the cavern whose clammy depths awaited him.

The Mountain King's palace was nothing more than twisting tunnels dug out of the mountain. It was rumored that he had paid forty dwarves to do the work, then had them killed so he could reclaim his riches. He was the son of the elemental god Karroth and a strong warrior nymph, and his ruthless war-waging ways were feared by those who inhabited the same mountains. Moralo was terrified of the demigod, yet his companion Bren showed no fear if he indeed felt any.

Once they were into the second passage of the palace, the merciless cold faded and it became almost warm in the tunnels. In fact, as they were led along by a heavily armored guard, it was becoming increasingly warmer. By the time they reached the Mountain King's throne room, it was stiflingly hot and Moralo was sweating copiously. When they entered the room where the King himself lounged, the reason for the sweltering heat became clear.

The Mountain King was a giant man, bursting with muscles crammed into all available space beneath his heartily raw-colored skin. He was proportioned like a regular, brawny man, except he was twice the size. His eyes were a wild, startling, vicious green and his hair was a mane of tangled charcoal-black curls. He was sprawled carelessly on a custom-made sofa before a long table, upon which was something that was not only perfectly familiar to Bren, but also a large goblet of aromatic drink and a platter of roasted, smoked, and grilled foods. Bren only had eyes for the one inedible object on that table, its painted squares calling his name.

A chess board.

"The Rook Thief and his servant, Your Majesty." announced the guard who had led them there. Bren felt sorry for him, imagining how he must feel in all that armor with this heat.

"Ah, welcome, little robber. Come, sit, the board has already been set up, and I am bored." declared the Mountain King. His voice was very loud, booming with power and arrogance.

Bren gave an honest bow and asked, "My Lord, if you would be so kind as to allow me and my friend here to remove some of our clothes before we begin, I would be very grateful. We are dressed for the cold, and it is remarkably hot in here."

The Mountain King gave a great guffawing laugh.

"What did you expect? I'm the son of the Fire God! This is the temperature of the heat my body gives off. Now go ahead, but be quick about it, I'm very bored! My servant will bring you something lighter to wear for the duration of your visit."

As Bren and Moralo stripped down behind the privacy screen the Mountain King had set up for them, Bren couldn't help but peek over the top of it to gaze at the chessboard chiseled from stone that lay upon the table before the Mountain King. The usual thrill of the coming game settled calmly over him.

After they had changed, Bren strode quickly to the two uncomfortable wooden chairs that stood at the other end of the Mountain King's table, opposite his luxurious sofa. He sat without complaint, checking the twine that kept his pouch tied to his belt to make sure it still held.

"Shall we begin?" He asked the King politely.

"About time, little robber." The King growled appreciatively.

"What are the stakes?"

"I've heard about your skill with the quill, Rook Thief. If I win, you have to become my personal scribe and write a song about me and my fierce godliness." Declared the King.

"What about Moralo?"

"Who?"

"My friend here." Bren gestured to the old man as he sat down in the other chair.

"Oh... I don't want him. He's no use to me." The King grunted indifferently.

Moralo looked rather miffed.

"Alright. As for me, if I win, you must release the band of robbers you have captured to make into slaves." Bren replied calmly.

A cruel glint appeared in the King's eye.

"I _thought_ those might be your people. I was right, it would seem. Very well. But you won't win." He laughed.

The game began. Bren was calm and confident as he played. If the Mountain King were to look away from the board and into the Rook Thief's dark brown eyes, he would have seen them sparkle with pleasure and amusement, or perhaps chance to notice them darting all over the board as if trying to dance with the pieces, sometimes fading into thoughtful stillness or jumping into motion again as the cogs and gears behind them fearlessly raced at ridiculously high speeds. It was hardly any time at all before Bren had wiped out the King's pawns with an unapproachable rook and a daring bishop. The temperature in the room went up slightly as the King grew annoyed.

Soon, Bren had snatched the Mountain King's bishop and put him in check. When the King spluttered and blocked his piece from harm's way with his queen, Bren retaliated by taking out one of the King's rooks, which he then surreptitiously dropped into the pouch at his hip while covering the motion by pretending to scratch his back. A few minutes later, Bren retrieved the King's second rook, which followed the first into his pouch. He then proceeded to trap the Mountain King's king, and leaned back with a smile, putting his hands behind his head, announcing, "Checkmate."

The temperature had been steadily rising as the game went on and the King lost more and more of his pieces. Now it exploded past "uncomfortably hot" into "blistering, skin-sizzling, spontaneous combustion hot" and the Mountain King erupted, inflating his chest, his eyes frenzied with fury. Flames burst into existence on the demigod's skin and in his hair and he roared like a beast. Bren felt unsure for the first time since he had decided to defeat the Mountain King.

As Bren and Moralo watched with wide, frightened eyes, long black horns sprouted from the Mountain King's head, his ears grew longer and strangely shaped, turning very red, and they could see the teeth in his open mouth shoot up, transforming into glistening fangs. His tongue elongated and became slimy, then they realized it had forked, like a snake's. His head was elongating as well, becoming more angular, beast-like. His fingernails became talons, his raw-colored skin reddening and flaking, growing circular, glossy-looking patches, like scales. He bent over, and they gasped as they saw wings burst from his back in a sickening, agonizing way. They unfurled and strained, wide and leathery.

The servants had fled from the room. Bren gaped in amazement as the Mountain King reared and ejected a stream of flame into the air, which in the dry, overly hot atmosphere, exploded into fire itself.

"HE'S A DRAGON!" Moralo bellowed, seizing Bren's arm and running for the exit. A huge, scaly tail thudded to the ground directly before them, blocking their escape.

They turned to face the infuriated dragon that had moments ago been the Mountain King. He reared again, his back slamming against the rock roof of the throne room, another roar ripping from his throat. Bren's eyes darted around the room, searching for another exit. He found one, and yanked on Moralo's arm as he dashed for it recklessly, fear making him foolish.

Before they could reach it, even before the Mountain King could block it, a voice echoed from inside it.

"PYROTHIUS!" The voice yelled.

Bren and Moralo halted, and the Mountain King fell silent, his gaze snapping to the door, an emotion not unlike horror in his vicious green eyes.

Bren was expecting a new monstrosity to emerge from their only other escape, but instead what came out was something quite different.

A woman stomped out of the large doorway. She had wildly frizzy ginger-blonde hair and was only slightly smaller than the Mountain King when he wasn't a dragon; a small giant, perfectly proportioned, just twice as big.

The woman was absolutely livid. Her bright red eyes flashed dangerously.

"PYROTHIUS, STOP THIS NONSENSE RIGHT THIS INSTANT!" She shouted in a voice that reverberated throughout the room. The Mountain King flinched.

"Get away from them." The woman snarled, her voice suddenly frighteningly quiet.

The Mountain King hesitated, then withdrew his tail from the exit and sat down with a humongous THUD. He looked rather like a puppy being scolded for urinating on the rug.

"Hydrenia, come here." The woman called into the tunnel she had come from.

A normal-sized elvish girl slipped into the room. She looked faint, which was no wonder. She had pale blue-white skin, long blue hair, and appeared to be of the water element.

"Douse the fire." The giantess commanded.

The elf girl spread her arms and lifted her palms. After a moment, water gushed from her outstretched hands, extinguishing all the fire in the room and leaving Bren, Moralo, the Mountain King, and all the furniture soaked through.

The Mountain King shook the water off his face rather like a dog might, giving the giantess a reproachful look.

"You're dismissed." The woman told the elf girl indifferently, and strode over to the giant red dragon.

"Pyrothius, do you know what you've done with your little temper tantrum?" She asked of him, her voice mocking sweetness.

The Mountain King did not respond, hanging his great scaled head and looking at the rough stone floor as if it was the most amazing thing he had ever seen.

"YOU WOKE OUR CHILDREN! YOU WOKE THE PRINCES, RIGHT AFTER I PUT THEM DOWN!" The woman shouted, and Moralo covered his ears with gnarled hands, wincing.

"NOW," screeched the woman, who Bren realized must be the Mountain King's wife, "THEY ARE UPSET, AND CRYING, AND SETTING THINGS ON FIRE!"

Bren quietly took his companion's arm and tugged him toward the exit as silently as he could manage.

"It was those two!" The Mountain King snarled, and Bren froze. "They cheated me at chess! I got mad!"

"YOU NEED TO KEEP YOUR TEMPER IN CHECK IF YOU WANT TO REMAIN THE KING OF THIS MOUNTAIN, MISTER!" roared the Queen.

"JUST BECAUSE A PUNY ROBBER MANAGES TO BEAT YOU AT A SILLY GAME OF CHESS DOES NOT GIVE YOU THE RIGHT TO THRASH AROUND, DESTROYING THE FURNITURE AND TORCHING THE TAPESTRIES!"

Bren was holding his breath. He was very, very afraid of the Mountain King's wife, as it appeared she was far more ferocious than he.

"IF YOU HAVE TO BE A BAD SPORT AND PUNISH HIM, DO IT THE RIGHT WAY AND BANISH HIM OR SEND HIM TO THE DUNGEONS, DON'T DESTROY YOUR OWN THRONE ROOM, YOU GREAT BLOOMING IDIOT!" The Mountain Queen raged.

She fell silent for a moment, and Bren could hear her breathing heavily, though he still did not turn.

Once she had composed herself, she said, in a much less abrasive voice, "I will take them to the dungeons, and then I will come back, and we shall discuss what is to be done with them in a _civilized_ manner."

"But Valvoria-!"

"That is that, Pyrothius. If you are not in your human form by the time I am back, I'll banish _you_!"

With that, Valvoria, the Mountain Queen, whipped about and marched over to where Bren and Moralo stood.

"Come, you fools." She ordered, and strands of fire shot from her hands to wind round the two men's wrists like rope. Bren gasped as it burned his flesh, but Valvoria took no notice, leading them along the corridors like dogs, until they reached a part of the palace that was untouched by the heat that emanated from the Mountain King's body.

The hall they entered branched into several different cells. The one Valvoria chose for the Rook Thief and his companion was the one at the end, and was by far the most dank and unwelcoming cell there. The Mountain Queen unceremoniously pushed them in, swung the barred door closed with a clang and an ear-splitting shriek from the un-oiled hinges, and released them from her fiery ropes, which disintegrated. She locked their door with a large key which she extracted from a ring of jangling look-alikes, which she retrieved from her bosom, and then turned sharply and swept out of the room without a word.

"Well, Rook Thief?" said Moralo bitterly. "What do we do now?"

"We wait." Bren replied, putting a hand to the pouch at his hip, feeling all the stolen chess pieces it contained through the leather.

"We wait..."

A/N: Don't be discouraged dear readers, I know this chapter has nothing to do with Inkheart, but it is important to the story. Please review, thank you for reading, more coming soon. Also, I own the rights to the Mountain King Pyrothius, his Queen Valvoria, The Rook Thief, also known as Bren, his faithful companion Moralo, and pretty much everything in this chapter, and if you steal any of these names or titles, you will be punished to the full extent of the law. Sorry to be a hard-ass, I just hate it when my ideas are taken. I thought long and hard to create all these names, so I'd appreciate it if you left them to me. Thank you. ~ The Real Rook Thief


	3. Chapter 2: The Reading Room

The Rook Thief and the Inkworld

Chapter the Second:

The Reading Room

Bren awoke to find that his entire body was sore and ached horribly. There were no beds nor furniture of any kind in the cell Valvoria had encaged them in. The stone floor was cold as ice and very uneven, not to mention hard. Bren was very uncomfortable.

Moralo sat in the other corner of the cell, huddled up against the walls, his knees curled up to his chest. They both still wore the scanty, embroidered loincloths the Mountain King had lent them in the heat of his throne chamber, and the grizzled old man was trembling from the cold that had penetrated his body.

"Oh... Moralo. I'm so sorry." Bren expressed his regret that they had ended up here. He stood up with a slight groan and walked to the bars of their cell.

"What is it we're waiting for, Rook Thief?" His companion rasped.

The Rook Thief shivered, wrapping his arms around himself.

"Someone." Bren replied.

"Who?"

"I don't know yet. Whoever it is that is our key to getting out of this cell."

It was at that very moment that the old door at the end of the hall opened and a warmly-dressed maid stepped into the dungeon. She was young and almost pretty. She came over to Bren's cell and unlocked it with the key in her small white hand.

"You are to follow me. If you attempt to escape, you will be caught and killed." The girl explained in a very small voice, avoiding eye contact with Bren.

The Rook Thief glanced back at his companion, giving him a wink that the girl wouldn't be able to see. "Come on then, old friend."

The small girl shackled the two men together at the feet and led them by a rope, which thankfully was not made from fire this time.

"What are we going to do, run for it?" Moralo asked quietly.

"I say we wait and see where she's taking us, maybe she'll lead us to our people." The Rook Thief whispered back.

"You think Valvoria will have you imprisoned with the people you love?" Moralo gave a small derisive laugh, and the girl who led them looked back with uncertain eyes.

"I don't know, old friend. It's obvious _she's_ the one with more power here, not her husband the King. That's the very reason I've never married." The Rook Thief remarked wryly.

Moralo chuckled, and again the small girl looked back, this time with fear tainting her pretty moss-green eyes.

"I wonder why they sent _this_ little mouse to fetch us. She's small and timid, we could easily overpower her. Perhaps they know that, and are hoping we shall try so they can have an excuse to kill us?" The Rook Thief wondered aloud.

They did not try to escape, but rather allowed the petite female to lead them into a room almost completely empty except for a very old woman in a rocking chair by a blazing fire that strained to jump from its hearth. The woman's hair was thin and white, wispy and fragile-looking. Her eyes were such a cloudy blue that at first The Rook Thief thought she must be blind. He stood corrected as soon as he noticed the leather-bound book that lay open on her lap, her wizened finger still on the page under the line she had just been reading.

"The Rook Thief and his servant." The small girl announced, clearly afraid of the old woman. She quickly dropped their ropes and exited the room, slamming the door behind her.

_What...?_ Thought the Rook Thief, completely bewildered as to why they had been brought_ here._

"Welcome, offenders of the great Mountain King," spoke the elder. The Rook Thief and Moralo both gaped, for her voice seemed entirely too mighty and beautiful for such a frail old lady. It was an intoxicatingly voluptuous voice, powerful and clear, while simultaneously soft and rasping, a sultry murmur in The Rook Thief's ear.

"Forgive me for not standing. You shall have to help yourselves out of your bonds. The key to your shackles is on the mantlepiece. Don't bother leaving, though. They lock the door," murmured the elderly woman.

Once they had recovered from the shock they received from the woman's voice, the two men were quick to release themselves from their bonds, and then, at the elder's direction, they removed their loincloths rather awkwardly and not without embarrassment to redress in the plain men's garments that had been left for them to change into, the Rook Thief scowling when the old woman stared at him with a mildly predatory smile more than was necessary.

When they were properly dressed, the Rook Thief checking to make sure his pouch was still tied firmly to his person, the elder began riffling through the pages of her book until she landed on a scrap of parchment hidden amongst the pages. The Rook Thief observed that the parchment was covered with a scrawling script of black ink that contrasted greatly with the peculiarly straight lettering of the words in the book the old woman held on her lap. The strange letters in the book greatly interested the Rook Thief.

Before he could step closer to examine them, the old woman began to read aloud.

"The woods that suddenly surrounded The Rook Thief and his servant were strange and new. The very air was magical, as was all they felt around them. The Rook Thief could smell flowers, many flowers, overripe berries, the odd odor of mushrooms, the tang of nettles, and the sights that were impressed upon him were even greater. There were flowers as pale as wax, blue stars on fragile stems, and the trees! The trees, oh how they towered above the two newcomers! Huge, wide-trunked trees, with expansive canopies spreading their beautiful leaves above."

The Rook Thief closed his eyes, enveloped in the woman's voice. He felt he could actually smell the fragrances she had described! What talent she had! Her wonderous voice enabled him to see the huge trees stretching higher and higher around him from behind his eyelids.

"A pool shimmered nearby from among gray and white stones, and The Rook Thief could see a tree where what appeared to be bees' nests hung. He did not know that they were in fact the nests of fire-elves, and that he was in The Wayless Wood-"

Suddenly the old woman's voice cut off. The Rook Thief longed for it to continue, then realized he could feel a pleasant breeze slip deliciously across his skin and play in his plain brown hair. He wondered at the feeling. It was no longer cold, but mild. The air tingled with magic...

The Rook Thief opened his eyes.

"By the Sisters!" He exclaimed softly.

Bren the Rook Thief was in an elegant forest, the forest the old woman had been describing so perfectly. And Moralo was nowhere to be seen.

Disclaimer: I am not Cornelia Funke, therefore I do not own the Inkheart trilogy. The Rook Thief is my own character, and is not to be used without my permission.

Chapter the Third coming soon...


	4. Letter of Apology

IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Dearest readers, I am loathe to inform you that I shall unfortunately be leaving for the time being and shall be unable to produce any more chapters to unfinished stories. I apologize most sincerely for leaving you all hanging. If I had things my way, I would continue writing, but I simply do not have the time. The way this story is, is the way it shall have to stay. Sincerely, The Rook Thief


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